


See You in the Light

by flashindie



Series: The Center and Circumference [2]
Category: Good Girls (TV)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff and Angst
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-03
Updated: 2019-10-03
Packaged: 2020-11-22 18:23:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,419
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20878673
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flashindie/pseuds/flashindie
Summary: Sequel to 'I Could Be Your Welcome'. Beth and Rio are moving in together. It's a disaster because they are.Domestic fluff! A bit of angst. A complete and total lack of communication, because that's entirely their specialty.Rio POV.





	See You in the Light

He knows it’s Carmen even before she presses the cool glass of the beer bottle to the back of his neck, condensation pearling against his skin, dripping down the collar of his shirt. Still, he turns around just enough to see her legs on the step behind the one he’s sitting on, bare in the afternoon heat. There’s a thin line of hair at her ankle she must’ve missed when she shaved, and when she sees him clock it, she jabs him in the side with her bare foot.

“Don’t talk about my legs when you ain’t got one to stand on right now,” she says, and it’s enough to make Rio huff, turning back out towards their mother’s backyard, watching Carmen’s boys play some makeshift game of football – darting beneath their dad’s legs, rolling around on the lawn, getting grass stains on their shorts. Above him, Carmen steps forwards until she can drop down onto the porch step beside him, pushing the beer bottle she’d brought him into his hand, and shit, he hadn’t wanted to drink. It was still early after all, the first touch of twilight skimming the suburb, the early call of evening traffic. He hasn’t even been here long – he’d spent most of the day setting up Marcus’ room with Beth after all, only to steal out when her sister had turned up with a couple bottles of cheap wine and take-out Chinese.

He hadn’t even had to tell her where he was going.

Hadn’t wanted to until he knew how this would go.

Not great, as it turned out.

“Aida still talkin’ her down?” he says, taking a sip of his beer, even though he don’t have to ask, not with the way their mother’s voice bleeds out through the open door, raised loud, Aida shushing her with a few well-timed _I knows_.

“Probably until Christmas,” Carmen says, her voice lighter than the words are, and Rio drags his attention away from the boys enough to look at her. She don’t look great, he thinks, rocking his jaw a little, and shit, at least that ain’t his fault right now. Her hours at the hospital have been bull for months. Understaffing, she’d told him the last time she’d seen him – a few weeks ago at Raf’s tenth birthday party, but it was more than that.

His eyes skirt the yard to where Matt roughhouses with the boys. He nods a chin up when he sees Rio looking at him, and Rio tilts his beer back at him in acknowledgement, but keeps his gaze carefully neutral.

“So did you come here with a plan?” she asks, and Rio spins around to look at her, a little surprised. Carmen’s almost as private as he is – the eldest of the three of them, six years older than him, too fuckin’ smart, too _good_ for anyone he knows, an ER doctor at DMC Detroit Receiving Hospital with a specialty in Not Askin’ Questions. Shit, somehow it means she knows more about what he does than anyone not otherwise in it, even if it is because she’s stitched him up so often, her hands always steady even as her face hardens in fury, even when - - that one time - - she hadn’t quite been able to blink back the tears in time.

“Didn’t know I needed one,” he replies now, turning back around to look at her kids again, and Carmen snorts.

“You just drop that you’ve moved in with some woman none of us know a thing about at Sunday night dinner, and you don’t think that needed a plan? Fuck, an explanation?”

He shrugs, pushing the beer bottle to his lips but not drinking yet. He glances back out across the backyard where Carmen’s boys have wrangled Aida’s dog to join them. Matt looks put out, standin’ at the corner of the yard, usurped by somethin’ on four legs, and Rio bites back a grin.

Moron.

“You knew I was seein’ someone.”

It’s enough to make Carmen sigh beside him, and he shifts, uncomfortable, watching Raf toss the football high in the air, Aida’s dog – some big, hulking ginger mutt named Salmon – leaping in the air to try and get it. Salmon misses, and Raf and David collapse on the grass, a mess of laughter.

Marcus should be here.

Shit, he always thinks Marcus should be here.

Still, maybe he wants it a little more today, if nothing else because that kid is like repellent to probing family questions – unknowingly keeping his tías in check, his abuela, but - - that ain’t fair. He finally takes a draining gulp of his beer, his ears training again to his mom’s voice inside, where her voice is hoarse from yellin’, from tears.

The way she’d asked him _who?_

The way she’d looked at him when he’d told her she wouldn’t know her.

“Sure,” Carmen says now. “Because Marcus sprung you months ago.”

And hadn’t that been fun? The way Carmen and Aida and his mom had spun around like this was one of Aida’s telenovelas and Marcus had been oblivious, chatterin’ away about Miss Elizabeth’s cupcakes and the way she smelt like flowers and just - - Rio taps the base of the beer bottle on his knee a couple of times, watching the condensation leave a wet ring on the leg of his jeans.

The next time he has him, it’ll be at the house.

It hadn’t been his first pick – shit, _farmhouse chic_? It ain’t exactly his vibe, but he’d known she’d love it the second Lisa had emailed him the photos, and then standing in it? With her? Something had _settled_. He has to swallow his grin, despite himself, despite this moment, Salmon barking on the grass, Carmen beside him, thinking of Elizabeth there in it now, still decorating with all those ugly ass novelty lamps she’d bought for the kids - - he was never gonna talk her out of themes.

“She know what you do?”

Rio turns around, meets Carmen’s gaze head on, and it’s weighted, and he blinks and he can see it, the first time she ever stitched him up, back when she was still in med school and he was a fuckin’ kid, and that hard line to her mouth and the tears beading at her eyelashes, but then he blinks again, and it’s Carmen now, and shit, her mouth - - it’s exactly the same.

“More than knows,” he allows, and Carmen raises both her eyebrows, her eyes searchin’ his face, and in the end she just exhales, like she’s somehow both impressed and pointedly _un_impressed by the admission.

“Figures,” she says in the end, but she rocks her leg a bit, like there’s a lot more she wants to say about that, but she bites her tongue. Gaze darting out to her kids. “Laura know about her?”

Rio hums in affirmation, his own look following hers. He wasn’t that much of an asshole – or shit, he was, but Laura had gone through the ringer more times than she hadn’t with him - - for him, and the last thing Rio wanted was for her to hear it first through Marcus playin’ Chatty Cathy. She deserved that much at least.

And shit, she’d been happy for him – really happy – and it’s not like he hadn’t figured she would be, not like they didn’t loosely call each other friends these days (not that there was a time they weren’t always more that than the alternative), but still.

He hadn’t been able to give it to her, had he?

He’d never wanted it enough with her.

Shaking his head, Rio takes another sip of his beer, and Carmen shadows the motion, scratching a little idly at her knee.

“They met each other?”

“Nah, not yet.”

In a few days though, he thinks, what with those school visits. Him and Elizabeth and Laura and fuckin’ Dean. He exhales something that could be construed as a laugh, but shit if Rio knows what it is. An inch to the left, he could’ve killed him, way back then. But then - - he probably wouldn’t be goin’ home to her tonight.

He has another drink.

Suddenly, Carmen rocks forwards in her seat, like she might get up, but thinks better of it, settling her ass back on the step beside him. Instead, she cups a hand around her mouth, wanting the sound to travel.

“Raf! Easy with your brother!”

And Rio just snorts, watching as Raf gets little David in a headlock, almost tumbling the both of them into Salmon. It’s enough to make Rio give Carmen a look out the corner of his eye.

“Wonder where he learnt that from?”

Rolling her eyes, Carmen makes a yapping gesture with her free hand at him in a way that makes Rio laugh, her gaze drifting over the backyard at where Matt’s now on his cell, grinning down the line, all swagger. He ain’t cheatin’, Carmen had told Aida that, who’d promised Rio. But it was somethin’, he thinks, rocking his jaw, taking another sip of his beer.

“Shit, you in a _house_,” Carmen says suddenly with a snort, and Rio’s gaze darts back around to her, pulled from his thoughts. “Not an apartment, not a condo, a _house_. And she’s got four kids?”

“Four kids,” he affirms, huffing slightly, and then Carmen barks on a laugh, folding back against the steps, looking up at him.

“You won’t just be a daddy anymore, you’ll be a _family man_,” she hums with a new laugh, softer this time, and Rio rolls his eyes. “You gonna get a minivan?”

And when he tells her Elizabeth already has one, Carmen laughs so hard she leans against him, and right, he thinks.

(This feels) Right.

*

And the thing is, he thinks, getting home from his mom’s, barely past nine, it’s only been a few days since they moved in. Since he got her on her back in Jane’s bedroom, got her all breathless and fucked out in their new bed, and despite his best efforts (and her promises to never leave it), he’s had a hard time keeping her down. If it’s not one thing, it’s the other – it’s the decorating and the unpacking and the constant shuffling of everything and all her damn nerves bubbling over like if she don’t have the exact right duvet cover on the exact right bed, any one of her kids might fall apart.

And shit, he thinks, stepping into the house, eyeing off the new teetering tower of boxes she’s unpacked and collapsed since he’s been out, the only one likely to do that at the moment is her.

He can hear more than see the activity in the kitchen – the softened slide of socked-feet on the tiles, a litany of unimpressed muttering, the crunch of brown paper bags being moved around and unpacked, and he follows it. Striding past the boxes and the still-padded furniture, beelining towards the kitchen only to pause in the doorway when he’s met not with Elizabeth, but with her sister, her skinny ass hanging out of Elizabeth’s ridiculously large refrigerator.

He moves, light footed, to stand behind the open door, throwing an arm out to lean against the wall there, a little buzzed from the beers Carmen had fed him, he can’t lie, lazily watching Annie shuffle and cuss under her breath, surge up on her tip toes to reach something. Closing the door and finding him, she leaps about a foot in the air in fright, and Rio has to bite back his grin.

“Jesus,” she hisses, and Rio pops an eyebrow at her.

“Damn, what’s your sister been tellin’ you?”

It’s enough to make Annie eye him off, unamused, and quip a too loud _ha ha_, although he clocks the way her eyes drift down his chest, stomach, and lower - - before quickly snapping back up, and damn, he thinks, amused, what _has_ Elizabeth been tellin’ her?

“What _you_ need to tell my sister is to buy better snacks,” Annie bites instead, yanking open the fridge door again to grab a yoghurt tube and promptly wave it in his face. “Like, what the hell is this?”

He blinks a little, surprised, and when Annie goes to close the fridge door again, he holds it open above her head. And shit, he thinks, resisting the urge to roll his eyes, jaw setting in irritation. It’s full. Really _full_. Separated into categories for breakfasts and school lunches and after school snacks and weekend treats, and when the hell did she manage that? They’d only even pulled the fridge out of his storage unit last night.

“She knows the kids ain’t movin’ in for another week, right?” he asks dryly, and Annie laughs.

“Are you kidding?” and then she adopts a voice that’s eerily close to her sister’s. “What if something happened? And they had to move in early? And all that was in the fridge was stuff for us? And they thought the world didn’t revolve around them for three minutes?”

She drops the voice and shrugs, ripping off the top of the yoghurt tube and shoving it in her mouth.

“She’s been weird about food since we were kids anyway,” she says around it, mouth full of yoghurt and Rio frowns at her, mildly disgusted at the visual of it, but Annie seems to read that wrong too.

She squints at him, taking the yoghurt tube out of her mouth to wave it in his face again.

“Oh, ho, my friend, you asked for this, so you don’t get to complain.”

Arching his eyebrow, he just stares back at her, unblinking, a little pleased when she starts to get nervous again, wobbly in her uncertainty around him, and she makes a noise in the back of her throat, flailing an arm out to the counter behind her.

“She picked those up today too. My vote goes to Glenvale Elementary. It seems the least like a factory line for the Country Club.”

Rio glances past her to the small bundle of glossy booklets on the kitchen counter behind her, each showcasing a school in their new district, and shit, he thought they’d finished their researchin’ – the interviews and tours booked. He resists the urge to run a hand over his face in frustration, looking down at Annie again.

“Where she at, anyway?”

“Up in Kenny’s room,” Annie says. “His new bed arrived today so she’s, y’know, Beth-ing it. Making his bedroom all perfect, etcetera etcetera.”

Rio nods, rocking his jaw a little, his gaze flicking towards the stairs before back down at Annie. He squints, and Annie squints back.

“You gonna be good here for a minute?”

“I was doing perfectly fine for the minute – nay, _minutes_, before you got here, so yes, I think I’ll be good, _sir_.”

Rio rolls his eyes, but nods, heading towards the stairs, and he can hear Annie muttering behind him, but tunes her out with an ease that’s surprising, even to him, and shit, maybe he’s already getting used to her. He shakes his head, taking the stairs two at a time to find Beth.

And he does find her – exactly where Annie said she be – sitting on the edge of Kenny’s new twin bed, the base of a bedside lamp hooked between her legs as she screws in a lightbulb. He pauses in the doorway, leaning against the frame, folding his arms across his chest, watching her. It takes her a shocking amount of time sometimes to notice he’s there, even when he ain’t tryin’ to be too light-footed. Still, he doesn’t mind, not with her.

He likes watching her.

He likes watching her when she doesn’t know anyone’s doing it. Likes seeing the softness in her face, the languidness of her movements. She postures so fuckin’ much, that’s the thing, and he don’t mind it – hell, likes it a lot of the time – that prim little purse of her red mouth, her shoulders just a little too far back to be anything but tight, the way she puffs out her chest, defiant, especially when she ain’t feelin’ it. Playing hard to hide all the ways she ain’t.

At least, not in those moments.

She’s always hardest, toughest, smartest, when she ain’t tryin’ to be.

Finishing screwing in the lightbulb, she shifts a little, gently pushing the lamp onto the bedside table, grabbing the shade off the floor to position it over the top. She tests it a few times, flicks it on and off, just to be sure it’s working, and then grins to herself, triumphant, looking around at the finished-bedroom, eyes finally catching on him, and she jumps a little, her eyes widening, before she collects herself.

“You know, it’s considered polite to announce yourself when you enter a room,” she says as she stands up, her voice dry, and Rio grins at her, half shrugs.

“You looked busy,” he drawls, gaze drifting pointedly around Kenny’s bedroom. It really has come together pretty well – the floors polished, the walls a pale grey, a few framed prints hanging alongside triangular wall shelves stacked with a mix of baseball mitts and action figures. The bed she’d gotten him is one with pull-out drawers underneath, striped bedsheets with millennium falcon cushion perfectly placed on top. “It looks good.”

And the compliment seems to surprise her, startle her almost more than him even being there at all had, and that makes him frown, even as a slightly hesitant smile twists up her lips.

“You don’t think it’s too much?”

And shit, ain’t that her whole brand? Still, he shakes his head, and it’s strange too, he thinks, the look of relief that passes her face. He rocks his jaw, looking sideways. She still looks tired, and he ain’t exactly runnin’ on a full tank anymore neither, not with all the unpacking, not with settin’ up the place, but at least he’d had the mind to organize movers for himself, people to pack up his loft, had even given Demon a boost in duties for the month while Rio got them both settled and ready for the kids, and then the kids settled too.

Elizabeth - - she don’t know shit about delegating.

“You left suddenly.”

The words are enough to pull him back to the moment, his gaze finding hers again across Kenny’s bedroom, and the look on his face is enough for her to add: “Everything okay?”

And that’s probably debatable, but still - - he nods. It ain’t the answer she wants - - hell, he wouldn’t be happy with it neither, but he feels a tick of annoyance when she frowns, takes a step towards him, when her voice takes on a tone.

“If it’s work, you should tell me,” she says sharply. “We’re partners, remember?”

“It wasn’t work,” he tells her, his own tone sharp, staring back at her, and she doesn’t shift back, doesn’t frown, barely blinks, and then they’re both quiet and all Rio can think about is how much he wants another drink. He’d left his mom’s with Carmen chill at least, but his mom had been committed to giving him the silent treatment, and Aida had spent the last part of the night makin’ bitchy, unsubtle jabs like she was on fuckin’ _Real Housewives_.

“It wasn’t work,” Elizabeth echoes, later than she should if she’d wanted it to seem like anything other than a way to probe, but still - - he probably owes her that much at least.

“I have dinner at my mom’s,” he tells her. “Every second Sunday.”

It’s enough to make Beth reel back in surprise, blinking a little wildly, like she hadn’t expected those words to come from his mouth, and she opens her own, closes it again. Rinse, lather, repeat. He can see it, the millions of questions forming on her tongue, and he’s preparing himself for one of the bigger ones when she says:

“What’d you have for dinner?”

And shit, now he’s the one blinking like an asshole. He curbs it quick, huffing out a laugh.

“Pozole. It was good.”

“Pork or chicken?”

He arches an eyebrow, impressed, and she shrugs, a little bashful.

“What to make for dinner was the most exciting thing happening in my life for a while, so I experimented a lot,” she says, shrugging. “Mine’s not very good. My pozole, I mean. My red sauce always has a weird texture. God, not always - -” she scrunches her nose up at herself. “Or yes - - always, but only because I only made it the one time. I think it’s how I roasted the chilies maybe?”

“Probably didn’t vein ‘em all the way,” he replies, and Beth squints a little in reply, and fine, he knows the actual cookin’ ain’t his strong suit, but he’s listened to his mom talk enough about it to know. “And she made pork.”

Beth nods, smiling just a little, she shifts her weight, her fingers twitching at her sides, like she’s not quite sure what to do with them.

“Did you pick Marcus up from - - from Laura’s?”

She stumbles over the name, like she’s still gettin’ used to it, and Rio figures that’s fair. They don’t talk about her much, if at all, and he knows way more about Dean than he’d like and really fuckin’ hates him coming up in conversation. Not that Laura’s Dean, but still. Rio shrugs.

“Nah, not today. Wanted to talk to my mom, and you don’t get a lotta talkin’ done with her grandkids around.”

It’d been the reason they’d sent Matt out the back with the boys, so he could do it properly – tell his mom, Carmen and Aida. It had worked, but also maybe he’d regret it. Maybe if the kids had been there it’d have gone down like a rock instead of a fuckin’ brick, but - -

But then Beth laughs, nodding adamantly, her nose scrunching in that way he likes.

“Seriously, whenever I have dinner with Judith - -” she flails her hands out either side of her, laughing. “All adult conversation goes out the window.”

Rio snorts a little, and Beth just smiles at him, bites her lip, wrings her hands a little before she realises she’s doing it, and drops them, and Rio watches the movement curiously. He still wants a drink, but shit, Annie’s downstairs, no doubt ready to keep talkin’ and miss every signal like always, and Beth’s up _here_, only now she looks a little tentative.

“What’d you want to talk to her about?” she asks, and Rio tilts his head.

“What do you think I wanted to talk to her about?” he drawls softly, his voice low, and Beth looks at him, her eyes big, too soft and shit, he wants to touch her. He always wants to touch her. He picks up his step, starting to close the distance between them, already tasting her lips on his, feeling her nails at the back of his skull, feeling - -

“Oh no!” Beth cries, the moment snapping like a spring, and Rio blinks, inches away from her. “You should’ve told me! That way I could’ve given you those school catalogues to take so she could be involved.”

And just - - fuck. Rio laughs, shaking his head, burying his hands in the pockets of his jacket.

“It ain’t on her to pick a school, darlin’.”

“Of course not, but it’s nice to get second opinions, especially from family. What if she’s heard something about any of them? Or knows someone? Online reviews only tell you so much.”

He snorts, shaking his head still as she starts to ramble about all the good and bad things she’s heard about their three-school shortlist, what her sister and her friend think, and even what that dumbass ex of hers said. Like he’d even looked at the fuckin’ websites. Rio thinks with a snort. Hell, he’s pretty sure he could repeat every page on ‘em word for word.

Shaking his head a little, his gaze passes over her, stopping on Kenny’s new bed again. She’d only even wanted this new one for the in-built drawers underneath it – his old one had been totally fine, and when Rio had suggested Bullet’s cousin could polish the thing up and they could pass it on to somebody, she’d jumped at the chance. Even that she’d tried to arrange herself, despite it being his damn offer, but they’d figured it out – Kenny’s old bed now good as new and underneath her best friend’s little boy.

But with Kenny’s new bed - - he squints a little.

“Thought you were gonna get him a full,” he says, and Elizabeth glances over at him. Kid’s already lanky as hell, and that dumbass ex of hers might be small in every way that counts, but he’s got height on him.

“He’s not even thirteen,” she says, rolling her eyes, and Rio blinks, because hell if that was what he meant, but still. He grins, amused.

“Almost though, ma,” he drawls, shrugging. “And he’s got your big blue eyes. Won’t be long ‘til he’s bringing girls home.”

She looks so damn scandalized at even the prospect; he has to swallow the laugh bubbling in his throat.

“He’s not even thirteen,” she repeats, and Rio shrugs.

“Only a couple years younger than I was when I started.”

And shit, he still remembers her. Heather Braddock. They used to run track together. Laps and laps and laps, Mr. Aquilla almost killin’ himself puffing on his whistle, yelling about try outs and records and competitions his deadbeat school couldn’t afford to send ‘em to. Heather and him had kicked it in the backseat of Carmen’s car, parked in the driveway at his house, smoked a joint, and he’d fucked her there. Awkward, all hands, too quick. They’d both laughed though, even though he doubts she’d gotten off. Neither of them had known what the fuck they were doing.

“Seriously?” Elizabeth asks him now, and Rio arches an eyebrow back at her. He takes her in, gaze drifting down to her chest, pausing.

“Bet you lost it at senior prom,” he tells her, because he can see it – her in something satin, her hair up, probably with that glitter hairspray his sisters used to love, awkward and pink cheeked, letting some math club loser feel her up in a supply closet. The way her cheeks pink now makes him know he’s right.

He laughs, and Beth clears her throat, tilts up her chin, all haughty and prim, like they ain’t talkin’ about what they’re talkin’ about.

“Look, even if he is not far off starting to think about - -” she flails an arm out, and Rio’s grin widens. “I’m not going to buy him a bed big enough he thinks I’m encouraging it or - - or _approving_.”

Rio hums.

“Make him struggle on a twin like the rest of us had to,” he says, nodding, and at Beth’s look, he holds up his hands in surrender. “I’m jokin’, ma.”

It’s enough to make her huff out a slightly annoyed breath, even as her shoulders relax, as her weight pushes out into one hip. He eyes it off, the curve of it.

“Annie said something about it last week too, when I was telling her about decorating their rooms. I used to want them to grow up so fast,” she says, her voice a little mournful, and he looks back up at her face, takes her in. “And it’s exciting, it _is_, but I’m just - - I’m not sure I’m ready for _that stuff_ yet.”

She gestures broadly out around Kenny’s room, like the lack of theme has been some sort of metaphor for a transition to adulthood, and he’d laugh if it was anyone else. If it wasn’t _her_, lookin’ like - - and shit, he doesn’t know. Just like she does. Like anyone has the damn right to look like her. He sucks on his lower lip, shaking his head.

“You don’t gotta be yet. It ain’t on his radar. Not really,” he tells her, because it ain’t, and it shouldn’t be, but even with that aside - - he looks at her again. Lips twisting into a grin. “Besides, don’t remember a time you not bein’ ready for somethin’ has stopped you deliverin’.”

And it ain’t entirely true, and they both know it, still, he can see the smile tear up the picture of her face, revealing something only more unreal beneath, glowing, and just - - shit. She’s a Russian Doll of beauty, he thinks, every layer he strips away just offering him something he wants more, and it’s not right, how much she unlocks him.

She bites her lip, and he closes the last of the distance between them.

“They move in next week,” she whispers. “All of them. It’ll be - - _we’ll_ be - -”

She trails off, looking at him, and her eyes are so fucking blue. He’s spent more time than he cares to admit thinkin’ about them – even before, even back when she was still shacked up in that house with her dumbass husband, when she was still just washin’ his money at her big box stores, when she was stealing from him, whether she meant to or not, like it was just the colour of her eyes that got to him. Went looking for it in paintings and prints to hook on his walls, like that would ever be enough, like he could keep some part of her that way like he’s still got her pearls, like - -

“I’m not looking, I’m not looking, okay, so I’m looking a _little_.”

Beth closes her eyes with a huff, dropping back down onto the soles of her feet (and shit, when had she gotten on her toes?) before promptly turning around to Annie in the doorway, her hand covering her eyes but her fingers spread enough she can see right through them.

“_Annie_,” Beth groans, and Rio tilts his head around to stare at her sister too, jaw rocking slightly, and Annie just drops her hand.

“What?” Annie bites, flailing a little. “You know there’s a limit on how long you can leave me alone!”

Rio snorts, because no shit, and it’s enough for Beth to hit him slightly in the chest.

“I made up the bed in Emma’s room for you,” she tells her, and Rio blinks, head reeling back around to look at her.

“She stayin’ over?”

“I always stay over on wine nights when I don’t have Ben,” Annie says, like it’s obvious, and Beth blinks up at him, like it hadn’t occurred to her that she should’ve let him know. She mouths a _sorry_, and Rio shrugs, not really bothered, except - - okay, maybe a little bothered. She’s just real fuckin’ loud.

“I can’t find your towels,” Annie adds with a whine. “Everything’s different.”

Rolling her eyes, Beth steps away from him, starting towards Annie in the doorway, and the whole thing is enough to make Annie laugh, bounce a little on her toes, before throwing a glance back to Rio.

“Primo water pressure, bee-tee-dubs.”

And just - -

_What?_

“You showered here already?” he asks, voice leaden in disbelief, his own gaze darting back to Beth.

“Before you guys even signed on the dotted line,” Annie replies, too fuckin’ smug, like that’s obvious too. “Gotta check out the goods.”

“Her building’s pretty old,” Beth explains, tone still apologetic. “Water goes out a lot.”

Annie finger guns him, and Rio stares at her as Beth leads her out of the room to find her a towel, and right, he thinks again.

Right.

*

“Okay,” Aida says, dropping the tennis ball, letting it bounce once, twice, three times, before she scoops it up again in her hand, squints a little at him, tosses her long, dark ponytail back over her shoulder, and shit, he thinks, already annoyed. She’s gonna ask. “I wanna know the moment.”

“Thought you said you weren’t gonna ask nothin’,” he tells her, rocking on the balls of his feet. Hell, she’d promised it – done that thing where she played it earnest, her voice easy over the phone line as she’d talked about whoopin’ his ass in a game, competitive, like they’d been since they were kids. He grabs his bottle of water from the side of the tennis court, takes a swig, watches his sister watch him, and she just fuckin’ _laughs_, which really shouldn’t be a surprise.

“Yeah, to get you out here,” she tells him easily, dropping the tennis ball again. “Guess I’m a liar. Guess it runs in the family.”

“I didn’t lie,” he reminds her, because he didn’t, and Aida snorts.

“You as good as and you know it. Don’t try to play me like that, I ain’t into it.”

He scoffs, flipping the tennis racket in his hand, looking over her shoulder at where a little group of waspy women congregate at the side of the court. They watch him, and he looks at ‘em too – separates them – yuppy mama, someone who probably owns some boutique jewellery store, some third generation somethin’-or-other. That he can tell on sight – who’s earned their money, who’s inherited it, who’s married it, who’s had to scrap for a cent. None of the last here, he thinks, and when they grin at him, checkin’ him out, he grins back, all teeth.

“I wanna know the moment,” Aida repeats, and Rio’s head pivots around to look at her.

“What moment?” he allows, and Aida rolls her eyes.

“_The_ moment, Chris. You know, the one with the fireworks and the choir of singin’ animals. The moment she was different to all those other girls you’ve stuck it in – and don’t pretend you ain’t done that, because Maritza has seen you out and she has told me things, and so has Laura.”

He laughs at that, can’t exactly deny it, so he moves a little closer, bumping into her playfully.

“Damn, I told you all those princess movies would rot your brain,” he says, voice leaden with a put upon concern before it snaps back to normal. “There ain’t no moment. She needed a house, I wanted somewhere bigger for Marcus, and you know, me and her, we’re together.”

He looks at her then, bites back his grin as he schools his face into a faux serious expression.

“We fuckin’ on the regular, Aida.”

And when Aida groan-squawks in disgust, he laughs, dancing enough away that when she tries to bring down the tennis racket on his arm, he’s out of reach.

It’s nice to be out here. Nice to be at the club. It’s closer to the new place, but he hasn’t made it out any time recently, not since they moved, not since he brought her kids here for a game. Just hasn’t had the time, and he’s surprised to find he’s missed it, that stepping onto the court with his sister has done somethin’ about unwindin’ one of the irritable knots between his shoulder blades.

He really does like the place, particularly on a morning like this one – something about it feels brighter, crisper, cleaner, and shit, he _really_ likes the last point. Stretching out his hamstrings, the smell of breakfast drifts down from the club restaurant – smoked salmon and scrambled eggs, blue cheese quiche, green shakshuka. Fresh coffee. He inhales deeply, glancing up at another clutch of women drinking mimosas on the back deck, and then - - shit. He waves out a hand, Gretchen tilting her champagne glass down at him.

Aida follows his look, blinking back at him.

“Does Gretch know?”

“She’s my lawyer,” he reminds her, like she don’t know that, and Aida scoffs.

“Yeah, cool, Chris, you tell your lawyer you shackin’ up with a chick before you tell your family, that’s _super_ normal.”

“Never said it was normal,” he tells her with a shrug, and then he starts towards the other side of the court. “Thought you and me were here to play?”

And she seems to give in at that, and Rio can’t say he ain’t grateful. They play a few rounds of tennis – she wins, he assures her he let her (he didn’t, but ain’t that what little brothers are for?) and he’d just figured they’d eat here, but Aida insists on taking him to some Vietnamese place closer to town – plying him with pork belly banh-mis and really, that’s a pretty quick way to get him anywhere.

It’s how they end up holed up in this tiny restaurant anyway, the vinyl floors peeling and the metal chimes hung above the door constantly ringing. It’s _packed_, and the second he bites into his banh-mi, he gets why.

Shit is _good_.

And so they talk about work – she tells him about the paintings she’s sold, the photographs she’s taking to make ends meet – newborn photoshoots and corporate headshots (if she’d just let him give her some money - -), her dog’s ingrown toenail, and Liv, her girlfriend, and Rio talks to her too – a little about work (mostly the legit side of it), and Marcus’ soccer team and the things he wants to do with the house.

“Put a deck in out back,” he tells her. “For outdoor entertainin’. It’s got the space, and especially if the kids are out there all the time - - it’d be good to have somewhere out there to work from too.”

Dumb thing is, he’d dreamt it. The kids playing something or other on the grass, Elizabeth’s dog yappin’ at their feet like Salmon had with Raf and David, then him and her, at a table they didn’t own yet, sitting across from each other, arguin’ about work and what to have for dinner, her foot in his lap, his hand rubbing circles into her ankle, into her lower calf, occasionally pinching her Achilles tendon, just to feel her tense, just to make her jump a little beneath his touch so he could soothe her back down, and just - -

He’d woken up half-hard and just - -

_Wanting_ it.

So now he’s been lookin’ into damn contractors for _that_, and he breathes out, dropping back in his seat at the table, and it’s enough to make Aida pause, before mirroring his movement.

“She’s different,” she tells him, and Rio rolls his eyes, looking at his sister. “_You’re_ different.”

“Aida,” he groans, but she doesn’t let him get far, leaping into the conversation before he can say another word.

“It’s _good_, I _like_ it, I just - -” she exhales, her forehead furrowing. “I’m tryin’ to figure out what it is and why it is, if it’s you or her or if it’s the two of you together, but you ain’t bein’ helpful. And I feel like you keep talking your way around her, and not actually telling me anything, and honestly, I don’t know what the fuck that means.”

He looks at her, and she looks straight back, and after a minute, she laughs, but there ain’t a whole lot in it.

“I asked you before for the moment, but fuck, I don’t even think you know, huh?”

And shit if he knows how to reply to that one. He opens his mouth to reply, with what, he has no idea, but it’s gotta be someone’s birthday in the restaurant, because suddenly two waitresses step out from the kitchens, carrying a bowl of deep-fried ice-cream, a sparkler sticking out of it, fizzing bright, singing Happy Birthday in broken English. Rio watches them awkwardly manoeuvre around the full house over Aida’s shoulder, and Aida finally just sighs deep.

“You happy?”

He nods sharply, before he can think anything else of it, and it’s all it takes for Aida to lean over the table, bringing him into her arms. She holds him tight, clings like she would when they were kids, when the world was too big and they were too small, when their dad died, just - - a million _whens_, and he can’t help the way he grabs her back

“Good,” Aida says. “I wanna meet her.”

“You want a lot’a things,” he hums, and he can’t see Aida’s face, but he knows she’s rolling her eyes.

*

He’s halfway through unpacking a box of books when he spots another stack of framed prints pushed up against the living room wall. With a sigh, he rocks back on his heels, his jaw shifting forwards. He only half remembers them from Beth’s old place, but he’s vaguely certain they’re more flowers; and shit, he thinks, he’s gonna have to ask her at some point if she has some sorta stake in floral.

There’s no time to think much else though because next thing he knows the front door is springing open, and Beth’s striding through, still in her slacks and blazer from the dealership, a frazzled, exhausted air about polk;her as she dumps her purse and a binder onto the sofa and beelines for her bar cart.

He hadn’t even bothered going in after seeing Aida, figuring he’d be better off unpacking a little and getting the furniture into the right spots – even wrangling Bullet for a bit to help while Demon handled things in the office (at least so much of it was heavy enough Beth wouldn’t be able to take to rearranging it again herself). He watches Beth now, watches her pour herself a bourbon and shot it down, shaking her head as she pours a second.

“Bad day?” he drawls, and she glances over at him, her face pinched as she swallows down another drink.

“I think I’m going to have to write Tony up again,” she says mournfully, and Rio arches an eyebrow at her, dropping his books onto the shelves before heading towards her. She holds up the bottle and he nods, leaning back against the wall as she pours him a drink.

“Ain’t this the third time? How many warnings he gonna get?”

And he means it. Guy’s practically begging to get fired at this point – he’s only dealing with the clean side of things and he can’t even handle that – basic admin, a few sales. Shit. He feels like he’s heard more about the ways this guy has fucked up than he’s heard about anyone else at the dealership period.

“His wife’s pregnant again,” Beth says, her tone weighted, and Rio arches an eyebrow back at her.

“Damn, you knock her up?”

It’s enough to make Beth give him a dark, unamused look, and Rio returns it as he takes the glass Beth offers him. He takes a sip, thumbs the glass, adds:

“I’m just sayin’ that that ain’t your responsibility. It’s a business, not a charity. He not pullin’ his weight, fine, there’s plenty of people who will.”

“I know that,” she says, a little snappy, a flush building up her chest, half-hidden by her blouse, and he should probably stop, but he’s halfway in, and he can’t entirely help himself.

“You ain’t her husband, and you ain’t his mama. You’re the boss.”

“I know that too,” she says again, her voice tinged with irritation as she kicks off her pumps, and she opens her mouth to say something else, what he has no idea, because suddenly she sniffs, and then her head wheels around to level him with a squint.

“Did you make dinner?”

It’s suspicious, cautious, the way she says it, and - - okay, sure, she got reason. He’s cooked for her twice and both times have been unmitigated disasters. He purses his lips, looking down at her frizzing hair and the slump of her tired shoulders, her narrowed eyes, and he thinks about pushing, but also - -

“You smell smoke?” he jokes instead, and it’s sudden, the way she laughs, head falling forwards, eyes slipping shut, her nose wrinklin’ in that way he likes, and something in his chest warms. “Nah, I wouldn’t do that to you, ma. My sister and me got Vietnamese for lunch. Bought some for dinner too, figured you were gonna be late.”

Coz he had. She’s taken a few too many half-days with the move, and she ain’t been slippin’, not really, but she was a little behind. It’s the delegation thing again, he knows, and if there’s a way to bring that up without gettin’ her flushed and irritated and self-defensive, he ain’t found it yet.

Right now though, Beth just blinks, and he’s not sure if it’s the surprise of him telling her he has a sister, or at him thinkin’ to pick up dinner (shit, sometimes he wonders how Dean’s even alive without her there to wipe his ass). The two revelations seem to war on her tongue for a second, before she settles on opening her mouth, downing her drink in a shot, and holding it out for a refill.

“Thanks,” she says, and Rio shrugs, grabbing the bottle to top up her drink, and then she adds: “Did you get it with extra chilli again, because it was too much last time.”

It’s enough to make him laugh, glancing over at her, the memory sitting stark in her head – how pink she’d gotten, her eyes watering, the way she’d coughed and flailed and spluttered. He grins.

“Mmm, I remember,” he says it with a hum, sliding in a little closer, pushing her hair out of her eyes. “Thought gettin’ my tongue inside you was the only way to get you that red.”

And shit, he just laughs again at the glare she shoots him even as her blush crawls up her neck, batting his hand away from her hair. She wanders back a little from the bar cart, from him, taking in the living room. It’s getting close, even if it ain’t quite there yet. They haven’t plugged anything in in here for starters, and they both still have boxes to unpack, artwork to hang - - still have to decide which sofa is going where, which feels like a fight waiting to happen if ever he’s heard one. Still, it’s getting there, and he’d gotten it a little closer today, even unpacking some of her lavender candles, lighting one, which he sees her clock. Shit, not even clock. Sees stop her dead in her path. The reaction’s enough to make him blink, to watch her face soften, her posture, for her to turn back a little towards him.

“A sister,” she says, oddly breathless, and Rio pops an eyebrow, faux innocent, having a drink.

“What? Annie comin’ over again?”

He’s met with an unimpressed noise that makes him bite back a grin, watching as she swirls her bourbon around in the glass, takes a sip herself, turn up her dimpled chin.

“Fine, don’t answer my question.”

Rio widens his eyes.

“You ask one?”

Beth scowls, and she won’t do it now, he knows it right away, and he can’t quite contain his grin as she throws her arms up, drink sloshing onto the floorboards as she mumbles something about getting changed and unpacking and talking to someone who’ll talk back which is just the most fuckin’ _hilarious_ thing coming from her, but whatever, he thinks, polishing off his drink. There’s still too much to do.

*

He’s pulling the bubble wrap off another lamp (how many does she fuckin’ have?) when she bumps back into the living room (and she really does _bump_, shit, how many bourbons has she had?), changed into a pair of her leggings and one of his older t-shirts, clutching a box to her chest, her forehead furrowed.

“Why do I have so many DVDs?”

It’s enough to make him snort, to reach a hand out and watch as she stumbles tipsily towards him, practically collapsing to the floor beside him, the box dropping heavily at their feet. Pushing up onto his knees, Rio looks into it – more than a little buzzed himself – and bats her hand away when she makes a weird noise and says something about him getting no opinion because he owns no TV.

It’s mostly what he expects – a ton of old romantic comedies, chick flicks, period dramas, box sets of teen soaps and celebrity chefs – Martha Stewart, Nigella Lawson, Maggie Beer, their spines faded, the paper slip in their plastic sleeves a little torn, but then. He pauses, grinning.

“Shit,” he say with a laugh, grabbing a weathered copy of _Misery_ out from between _Carrie_ and _Pet Semetary_. “You into Stephen King or somethin’?”

It’s enough to make Beth blink owlishly back at him, leaning over and plucking the title from his hands, a little frown on her face, and shit, he wasn’t makin’ fun, not really, it just ain’t the vibe he expected from her. He sucks in his lips as she gets herself flustered, pushing it back into the box.

“I’m not _into_ him, I just - - I like some of his stories.”

Rio tries to get her to meet his gaze again, and she does, eventually, like the initial shock of him seeing them has worn off enough to let her handle it. She clears her throat, gaze drifting back down to the box, biting her lip as her finger ghosts over the spine of _Misery_.

“You know, Dean and I saw this on our third date,” she says, and it’s enough to make Rio arch an eyebrow at her, trying to imagine it before he can stop himself – Beth in some floral, sweetheart dress, Dean in something completely fuckin’ embarrassing, sharin’ popcorn, a soda, him tryna cop a feel. He frowns, and Beth clocks it, laughing suddenly, but it’s not a real one - - not quite a put-on one neither, but - - something.

“I think maybe I felt - - I mean it was my pick, so.”

She leaves the thought hanging, and Rio glances up at her, and he can see something on her face, something in the twist of her look, but it’s not making itself known to him. Like something familiar in a language you don’t know well enough to speak, and shit, sometimes he feels fluent in her, but other times - -

The air in the living room is still muggy from the day, a little thick still with the rough smell of furniture polish and couch cleaner, the strange, distinct one of all those cardboard boxes still to unpack. Shit, they have a lot of stuff. His gaze drifts out to them, the way they sag, their flaps hangin’ open like tongues, and he rocks his jaw, glancing back at Beth on the floor beside him, and she just looks so fuckin’ tired, _still_, and they got work in the morning, and then these school visits on Tuesday and then it’s only days before the kids are here, and they should be unpacking, they should be, but shit. He pulls _Misery_ out of the box again.

“Any good?”

Her head snaps up, her gaze locking on him like he’s just told her she’s short, and he could almost laugh as her mouth hangs open for a minute in shock before she says:

“You haven’t seen it?”

And truthfully, he ain’t really seen much of anythin’, but shit, it gets her excited – and it takes them longer than it should to work out how to set the TV up and get everything connected, and her big, too-soft couch is right there, but they pull down all her throws and cushions and sprawl out on the floor of their new living room instead, surrounded by half unpacked boxes, and for the first time since that first night, he thinks maybe she’s starting to unwind.

Which is just fuckin’ _hilarious_, he thinks, watching the main chick break the dude’s ankle on the TV screen.

“You picked this for a date?” he asks, eyebrows raised high on his forehead, his legs crossed as he leans on his side, and Beth laughs a little, her nose wrinkling.

“Dean hated it,” she admits with a grin. “I went back and saw it, god, like, a million times with Ruby. We still watch it sometimes.”

A look passes her face, like she’s remembering something, and he watches her shake her head, exhale a little wobbly, and he wants to ask her where she’s goin’ when she does that, but doesn’t think she’d answer, and he’s not sure he knows how to go there with her, not yet. So instead he lets his gaze drift back to the TV, and then nudge up against her.

“You tryna tell me somethin’, mami? You gonna tie me to the bed?” he asks her huskily, still joking, and the noise she makes is something new – too low to be a giggle, too soft to be a laugh. Her head tilts sideways, and she’s still a little drunk when she rolls onto her hands and knees, crawling over him, and he grins, letting her push him onto his back, letting her straddle his hips a lightly, her hand reaching for his.

She doesn’t say anything right away, doesn’t seem quite ready to, instead she turns his hand over in hers, her delicate fingers circling his wrist, and they barely get the whole way around – too short, too thin, too soft. He pushes his chin up, trying to get her to meet his gaze, but she’s - - she’s just totally fuckin’ enthralled, looking at her fingers around his wrists, her mouth hanging open, like she’s thinking about it, and he tries to meet her gaze and when he does she sort of - - sort of giggles, but it’s thick, and turns into her clearing her throat a bit.

“Would you like it if I did?” she tells him, her tone a little awkward, and she’s beet fuckin’ red, but shit, it’s there, that spark in her eye, the one that tells him she would if she wanted it enough. The one that tells him she _might_ and he can - - he can barely breathe, hips rocking up against her, and she grinds down, and just - - shit. He snakes his free hand up to the neck of her blouse, undoing the top button with the easy flick of his fingers, then the second one, and then she grabs that wrist too, holds them out, her blouse hanging open until he can see a line of pale skin, the curve of her breasts, hidden beneath a blush pink lace bra.

He lets her hold him like that, adjust herself on his lap, and she wets her lips, fingers tightening when he starts to move his hands forwards again, and it’d take nothin’ to break this grip, not really, but shit, he likes her like this. He rocks a bit underneath her, pushing his already hard cock against her and that seems to be enough to break her spell, and she’s surging forwards to kiss him, her hands at his jaw, and he drops his hands quickly to knead at her ass, pull her closer against him, so he’s almost holding her up, and then she’s gasping as he kisses down her neck, nipping at her chest, nosing aside her shirt to suck at her through her lace bra, and she keens, writhes against him, and he just - - he needs _more_.

Rolling her onto her back in one fluid motion, he yanks off her leggings, grinning at the wet spot visible on the crotch of her panties already, leaning in to mouth there briefly, just to hear her gasp, kicking off his jeans in the process. He shoves her panties aside, pushing two fingers in, and she’s already whining, her hands hitting at his back, cupping his cheek, scratching his neck as he briefly fucks her with them.

He pull his fingers out of her enough to pull his cock out of his pants, kicking them the rest of the way down as he lines up and pushes into her, shuddering when she moans, and he starts fucking into her properly and then her own hands are travelling, moving to circle his wrists again, and shit, he’s fucking her harder, faster, reaching a hand down to grab her leg, jerk it up until her knees at her ear and she brings her hand off his wrist enough to punch his forearm, then to stroke it, then punch it again as he angles deeper inside her. His other wrist looping out of her fingers to grab her hand himself, push it down between them until her fingers are on her clit, and he guides them, circling there, until she’s doing it herself, and then she just - - she looks at him, intent, intense, and he’s looking at her and then she’s yanking down his neck with her free hand to kiss him, and shit, neither of them last long after that.

*

This client – he wears these shirts, right? Button-downs, name brands, on-trend colours and crisp lines, and shit, it really shouldn’t bother him, but Rio just can’t get over the fact that the guy never irons the collar.

It doesn’t matter where they are – in his office, in the warehouse, at a bar, at a drop, this fucker always shows up like somebody’s had the neck of his shirt in their fist, the crumpled lines of it all Rio can see.

And then it comes in three parts, right? Three voices.

It’s always his mom first, smacking the back of his head, her lips pursed, her forehead drawn, her eyes steady.

_Don’t stare. You don’t know anything about him. About his day. About what he’s been through._

And then, just as quick, it’s Aida, always laughing, hanging off his shoulders to grab his own collar and ball it in her hand, _oh, that bother you_, she sings, like a fuckin’ nightmare, as he tries to slap her away.

But this one, it’s new - - or not new, but newer at least, Beth leaning in beside him as they leave, her nose wrinkled, her eyes bright:

_Did you notice that too?_

“I’m moving,” the client – Shiv – says, and it’s enough to jerk Rio out of his thoughts, to ground him again in this moment, in his office, the afternoon light filtering in through his drawn blinds. Rio’s gaze skirts past him, past that fucking collar, over to where AJ is talking to Demon somewhere through the open office door, in the next room, working through a few new orders, new distribution. When he left them there, they had Beth on speaker phone too, working out the scheduling for the cars, and he can still hear her voice, sayin’ something about _no more than twelve_.

“Movin’?” Rio says now, gaze settling back on Shiv and arching an eyebrow, and Shiv just nods, adjusts a little in his seat. His meat-hook hands folding at his belly.

“Indiana, so just a little over. It’s for personal reasons, I ain’t gonna lie, but I got networks there, and I wanna take this business with me.”

He gestures between the two of them then, and Rio turns a stone-cold look back on Shiv as the guy meets his gaze. They’ve been in business a few years, and Rio can’t say it ain’t been lucrative. Shiv’s a big guy with a history and a good team, smarter than he looks (especially with that fuckin’ collar), and he’s one of the few connections Rio moved with him when he went from funny money to prescription pills.

“Yeah? And how you see that workin’?”

Shiv sits up a little straighter, taking the words as an invitation, and Rio watches him carefully, taking in every movement, every nervous twitch. Still, Shiv ain’t playin’ when he says:

“You have someone drop the cars off somewhere on the state line, I have someone pick ‘em up.”

“Mmhmm,” Rio says. “So we can both be done for traffickin’?”

Outside, he can hear the screech of tires, someone yelling, the sound of hands, hitting the hood of a car. It’s not unusual, he’s discovered. There’s a bad intersection – lights that ain’t quite clear, and shit, even the fact that he _knows that_. This office? It ain’t been his favourite, and he’s already been here too long.

“Last I heard you were bringing the drugs in from Canada.”

Thing is, Rio gets it. The issues with Shiv’s collar. See – his neck? It’s too thick. All ‘roided up, bulging with veins. He can’t do up the top button of any collared shirt. Shiv’s built like a brick shithouse, and he knows it, but Rio ain’t ever seen him use it. It’s like the guy’s head is in a different weight class to his body, but then - - he’s come in here steady too.

Not too many guys can say that.

Still, Rio rocks forwards in his seat, watching Shiv’s dark eyes clock the movement, watches him shuffle slightly back.

“Yeah, see, but you and me ain’t got what me and my contacts got over there.”

It’s enough for Shiv to reset his features, his eyes drawing in, his mouth setting in a line, and then he just - - he starts talking.

“It’d open a new territory for you,” the guy says. “I’ve got networks. I got - -” he sucks in a breath when Rio arches an unimpressed eyebrow. “Look, my girl and me, we’re splittin’ up.”

And just - -

What?

Rio raises his second eyebrow to meet the other, gives him a look – like _and I should care because?_ but Shiv powers through:

“She wants to move back to Indiana – all her family and friends are there, and she’d only stuck around here for me. I don’t want to hold her back no more, but we got kids, and I want to be around for them.”

He pauses, and Rio stares unblinkingly back at him.

“You get that, right? I mean, you make it work, don’t you? All this and the family too.”

The way he says it, it’s almost tentative, and Rio exhales sharply, a tightness in his chest he isn’t comfortable with, his jaw rocking. He opens his mouth, closes it again, and he’s not sure what he’s expecting, but it’s not for Shiv to just collapse back into his seat, to look at Rio like - - shit, he don’t know what.

And Rio just - -

He should tell him no. He should cut him loose. This guy ain’t his responsibility any more than Tony is Elizabeth’s, but still. Rio finds his eyes darting past him again, growing hyper-focused on the other room, where she’s still on speaker phone to AJ and Demon, and just - -

He rocks his jaw, leaning forwards in his seat.

“You got projected numbers? Timelines? An idea of how you see this workin’?”

Shiv nods, quick as anything, grabbing a USB stick out of the pocket of his jacket, passing it over, and Rio grabs it, his movements jerky even to him. He doesn’t say anything, just dismisses him, and as Shiv leaves, Rio sucks in a breath, his leg a little jittery beneath his desk. He knew he had a family. Nobody outside the inner circle knows that, and he turns the USB over once, twice, three times in his hand and just - -

He grabs his cell, loading up the security app on his phone to check the cameras around the house, but they’re clear, and he can still hear Elizabeth’s voice on the phone in the other room, talking to AJ and Demon, which leaves - -

Shit.

He dials.

“Chris?”

Drumming his fingers on his leg, he leans forwards across his desk, shoving the USB stick into the port of his laptop, pulling up the spreadsheets from Shiv. Of course they’re fine too, he’d know if they weren’t, he reminds himself, exhaling. He’s got enough tabs on Marcus to always know.

“’Ey,” he says, voice tighter than he intends, and Laura’s sigh is so loud it crackles against her mouthpiece, against his ear. His mind reels for an excuse, for a reason to have called that won’t get her weepy and stressed out, but Laura cuts him off before he can get there.

“Yes, I got the catalogues,” she says with a groan, annoyed, and Rio blinks, mind being thrown back to the other night, with the school catalogues Elizabeth had picked up. She’d insisted he get them to Laura too, so they could all be on the same page for Thursday’s visit, and he’d swung by to drop them off only to find she wasn’t there.

“I knocked,” he says, tossing a glance over Shiv’s spreadsheets, and Laura sighs again, loud and irritable.

“I do have a life you know.”

Behind her, he can hear the sound of water sloshing, the clink of dishes, like she’s at home. It surprises him a little, but it probably shouldn’t. She’d done shift work when they were together too after all, albeit at a different restaurant to the one she’s at now, and he remembers them, like ships passing in the year that they’d lived together.

“Right, right, you got any thoughts?”

“I do like the look of Glenvale,” Laura says, and Rio nods. It ain’t his first pick – he really likes North Elm, but this makes it two – Laura and Annie, and he figures there gotta be a reason for that.

“Yeah?” he asks her, and Laura hears the question, even if he didn’t exactly ask it. She’s always been good at that anyway, fillin’ in blanks, like she knew from the start waitin’ on him wasn’t ever gonna do it.

“It’s got a good rep online. One of my chef’s kids goes there too. Likes it a lot. Plus they do a ton of extra curriculars, both sports and artsy stuff. Not a mix you often get. Plus the kids on the website look like they’re smiling for real, you know? Of course they could’ve just hired like, child actors or something, I guess.”

Rio hums a vague noise of agreement, eyes darting over the spreadsheet, and so what, he figures, if it calms his nerves – hearin’ Beth’s voice still in the other room, Laura’s now. He just needed a minute.

“This really why you called?” Laura asks sceptically, her voice terse over the line, and Rio makes a noise he hopes she takes as affirmation. When he doesn’t add anything to that, she sighs, a little pissed off.

“When we meeting with the schools anyway?”

“Thursday.”

Beth’s organised it – the three schools, the three meetings, the four of them, Rio thinks, irritated already, sucking in his lips. He probably should’ve accounted for Dean, but maybe he’d hoped the dumbass woulda gotten distracted by somethin’ shiny down in South Haven. He rubs a little at the bridge of his nose, and he can feel his irritation peaking again when Laura cuts through his thoughts.

“I got a pen,” she says, prompting him, and Rio blinks, before pulling up his iCal on his laptop and reading her the time and place for each meeting – 11 at North Elm Elementary, 1 at Glenvale, 2.30 at Portsmouth. He can hear her pen scratching and he pauses.

Thing is, they’d just planned to meet beforehand. To go together on this thing, all together, and Laura’s always been someone who’d go along with it, and just - -

He sits back in his seat, running a hand back over his head.

“Laur,” he drawls, and hears her make a noise of affirmation. “This is parents only, yeah?”

She’s quiet on the other end, and shit, she’s always been a bad liar.

“You talked to Aida,” he says, and Laura groans a little, and shit, he hates that they became friends.

Or he doesn’t.

But he does a little.

“How do you _do_ that?”

“Known you too long, sweetheart,” he says, tapping his foot on the ground of his office, his shoulders tense. “She ain’t comin’.”

“She just wants to meet her,” Laura says, exasperated. “_I_ wanna meet her. You know it would’ve been good to do that sometime _before_ school visits too.”

“We can get coffee on the way,” he offers. “I’m serious. She show up outside any of these schools, you and me are gonna have a problem.”

“Well, what’s the plan then, Chris?” she says, tone running shrill. “The only person here who’s had _any_ contact with this woman is Marcus, which is another thing - -”

And here we go, Rio thinks, rubbing at his face

“I thought we agreed that we’d talk to each other before introducing Marcus to partners?”

“And I told you,” he replies, jaw locking stiff. “Marcus knew her before she and me were a thing.”

“Before you were a thing,” Laura parrots back at him, snappy, and he groans. Somewhere behind her, he can hear her scrape something into the bin – the sound of metal cutlery on a porcelain plate loud in his ears. Somewhere closer, he can see Demon catch his gaze, and just - - _fuck_.

“See, there are steps between being a _thing_ and buying a house with someone, Christopher.”

“Funny, that’s how I remember things goin’ with us.”

And that ain’t fair – he knows it the second the words have left his mouth, rubbing again at his forehead. He and Laura had been - - ah, somethin’. The restaurant she managed back then was one of the first legit businesses he’d invested in, and they’d hit it off was all. Chill and jokey and _young_. He doesn’t think it would’ve been anything more than casual if it wasn’t for her passing him that positive pregnancy test a few months in. They’d tried to make it work, but fuck - - he has still too-sharp memories of the fights and her tears and her _freak outs_ and his - - well, his everything. He wasn’t - - shit.

How she’d looked at him the first night she’d seen his gun. And every night after. When she’d realised who he was.

He’d never told her a thing.

Not really.

Not then.

Which is why it’s all weird – that they’d only even really become friends after they’d split – like co-parents were always what they were supposed to be.

“If it’s anything like us, you’re a fucking idiot, Chris, I’m serious.”

And that? That is fair, he thinks, Beth’s voice still sounding from the other room, talking to Demon and AJ, and she ain’t a thing like Laura, but she is, and just - - he ain’t who he was with Laura with Elizabeth. They’re somethin’ else. He’d known it sooner than he thinks he’ll ever say.

“Chris,” she prompts, sighing over the line.

“It’s not,” he huffs out in response, and he can practically hear Laura roll her eyes over the phone, suck in a breath.

“Well, good. I want you to be happy. Like me and Simon.”

He rolls his eyes a little, leaning back in his chair, but he can’t be too mad. He’s always surprised by how much he likes Simon. The guy is quiet, a little serious, but on the whole chill. An accountant, funnily enough – even Laura jokes now that her type is clearly _good with money_.

“You know, I’ve been thinking about it anyway, and I think you should have a housewarming.”

And just - -

_What_

Rio reels a little in his seat, sitting properly again, his chair bouncing a bit beneath the force of the movement, and he tries to steel himself, just - - shit, tries to compute.

“Oh, you do?”

“I do,” Laura replies too easily. “Look, I feel like I know you well enough to know that you’re gonna drag your feet on showing people this place, and introducing her around, and basically drive your mom and your sisters insane. And I bet you haven’t met her family yet.”

“I’ve met some of ‘em,” he corrects. Sure, it’s her sister and the ex she was still married to when he fucked her the first few times, but they count. Laura hums like she doesn’t quite believe him, before continuing:

“And I know that I’m gonna meet her tomorrow at the schools, but I want to meet her kids too – especially if Marcus is gonna be around them so much. “

And he’d figured that as much – hadn’t been adverse to it exactly, but it also meant a conversation with Beth, and shit, he’d be the first to say that that weren’t neither of their strong suits.

“Laura,” he starts, but she doesn’t let him get another word in.

“You know, my nana used to say this thing – if you’ve gotta eat a toad, eat it first – save the fries and ice cream for after.”

She says it so certainly, so distinctly, like she’s been fuckin’ practicing it, which - - knowin’ Laura, she probably has rehearsed this whole conversation a million times over, that it’s hard to say anything to the contrary. So he doesn’t. Still, Rio leans back again in his chair, rubbing a hand over his face.

“See you tomorrow, yeah?”

And Laura just fuckin’ groans before she hangs up.

*

And so what, if he thinks about it?

She ain’t exactly wrong after all, and if it’s a way to get his mom and Aida off his back, to get that look off Carmen’s face - -

Well, shit.

Course, that ain’t where he’s at right now.

“Okay, so, you’ve got to picture it with a new duvet cover,” Beth tells him, scooting up off the bed, reaching for her robe – somethin’ long, white, with a blue floral print. She slips it on, tying it at her waist, and damn, he doesn’t like her coverin’ up, but he _does_ like the way it gapes a little at her shoulders, enough he can see the red blooming bruises he’d just nipped against her neck, into the dip of her collarbone. “And I’m going to move those lamps out of the living room into here. I just think they’ll look better up here, and like, really tie it together, y’know?”

“Right, right,” he says, stretching out in their bed, still nude, watching her eyes dart back, her cheeks dust with pink, and then she’s grabbing the sheet off the end of the bed, tossing it over his hips, making him laugh. He might not be able to switch her off for long, but at least she seems lighter like this, after she’s cried into his neck through an orgasm or two, a spring to her step, some genuine, real excitement in her again at finally getting to decorate their room (after they’ve both exhausted themselves fixin’ up the kids’ rooms of course).

“So this is the set I had up above my bed,” she says, grabbing two out of three frames – all of modest, country landscapes – soft greens and blues, water colour style, and they’re - - fine, he thinks, sitting up a little straighter in the bed. “And I thought maybe we could put them up in the hallway, because I mean, they don’t really go with the new bedframe.”

He has to bite his tongue at suggesting maybe the garage or something? Or better yet – the trash. He shakes his head.

“And my mirror too,” she says, a little mournfully as she puts the two framed prints down and grabs the mirror instead. She glances around the room, at the bed frame, before back down at the mirror, like she’s trying to figure out a place for it, and shit, Rio just _can’t_ with that one.

“Wouldn’t it go with that Jane’s whole look?” he suggests, and Beth blinks up at him, scoffing a little.

“Maybe when she’s older. This was an $80 mirror,” the way she says it - - he thinks maybe she wants him to think that’s a lot of money, and so he nods, brow furrowing in agreement.

“Won’t really suit nothin’ in here though, huh?” he says, faux mournfully, and Beth blinks at him, squinting a little like she’s not sure if he’s making fun of her or not, and shit, maybe he needs to lay it on a little thicker if she ain’t gettin’ that with this ugly ass mirror, before looking back down at it. She sighs, propping it up against the wall, before grabbing another – a canvas this time, something with a bright floral brush stroke and then it’s Rio squinting at her, casting a quick look at the diminishing pile still against the wall, then back at her.

“Any of mine just make the cut, or - -” he rolls a hand out at the wrist, and Beth looks just this side of embarrassed. Shit, he sprung her. Where’s she put his then?

“Yours are very green,” she tells him. “And that doesn’t go with the rest of the room.”

“Goes with it more than your Snow White in the dwarf cottage mirror,” he tells her, and Beth squawks, standing a little taller, and it makes her robe slip a little, and shit, that ain’t fair.

“I love that mirror,” she tells him sharply, gesturing to it, and Rio rolls his eyes, climbs out of bed, the sheets falling off him – what can he say? Self-conscious ain’t a way anyone’s described him before – and it’s enough to make Beth pink from the shells of her ears to the skin beneath her robe. He bites back his grin, gently tugging the mirror out of her hands, making a show out of inspecting it but only really seeing his own reflection - - or rather, the big fuckin’ hickey Beth’s bitten into his own neck.

“It ain’t just the mirror, mami, all this shit looks like you got it from someone’s estate sale.”

Beth rolls her eyes, yanking the mirror out of his hands and propping it back against the wall.

“At least it’s not just - - ” she waves an arm out. “Some paint squares that either of our kids could have done that you probably paid a small island for.”

“I don’t own a small island yet,” he tells her, just to see her flail at him again, exasperated, and when she’s got both her arms up in the air, preparin’ for no doubt another lecture, he grabs the sash tying her robe closed, and with a quick tug, pulls it out, letting the thing fall open, revealing a ribbon of pale skin before she closes it back around her.

“Don’t distract me with sex,” she hisses, and Rio laughs, watching her wrap it back around herself, and really, this feels as good a time as any.

“So Laura thinks we should have a housewarmin’,” he says easily, and he can see that it takes her a moment to compute the words, being pushed off centre with it, and she opens and closes her mouth a few times when he leans forwards, grabbing her by the back of her thighs and hauling her back onto the bed. She bounces a few times on the mattress, and it’s a little too easy to flop down beside her, still watching, waiting for her to react.

“Why?” she says after a minute, and Rio shrugs.

“Thinks it’d be a good way to meet your kids, show the family the house. Get everyone happy.”

And he can’t quite pin it, the look she levels him – her big blue eyes unblinking, even a little dazed, but still she leans forwards, says:

“_Your_ family.”

There’s a weight to the word, and Rio looks at her, takes in the careful neutrality of her expression, the strange tone to her voice, the way she looks at him, like he should understand, and it’s that thought again, right? She ain’t speakin’ a language he knows right now.

But it’s nerves, he figures, jaw rocking. Or maybe it ain’t. Maybe it’s her thinking about him, about all the ways he don’t fit into her life, the way he looks beside her, and his exhale is sharp as he looks at her, and just - - shit.

“You ain’t got none?”

His tone is cold, and she balks at it, scoffs a little too loudly, flopping back on the bed.

“I have a _great_ family,” she tells him, and then quickly adds. “A housewarming sounds - - you know it just sounds _great_.”

And shit, she sounds - - pissed? Weirdly? He almost barks on a laugh, twisting in their bed but she won’t turn around to meet him, won’t even look at him, and this is just - -

He shakes his head, breathing out an unamused laugh, before turning back to look at her properly himself, and when she still refuses to meet his gaze, he says:

“Cool,” and he plays a little with the corner of her robe, tugging it gently open enough so that he can kiss her shoulder, and she seems stiff, uncertain, and shit, he figures, her family probably won’t be expectin’ him - - unless Annie’s been as bad at keepin’ her mouth shut as he thinks, and he don’t think Elizabeth will be exactly what his expects either, but whatever.

Then - -

With a grin:

He knows where she lives.


End file.
